The Prose Marmion | Page 4

the hall, and the snow lies deep at Christmas tide, when we can neither hunt nor joust, who will sing the carols, and sweep away the stake at bowls? Who will lead the games and gambols? Let Friar John in safety fill his chimney corner, roast hissing crabs, or empty the flagons. Last night, there came to Norham Castle a fitter guide for Lord Marmion."
"Nephew," said Sir Hugh, "well hast thou spoke. Say on."
"There came here, direct from Rome, one who hath visited the blessed tomb, and worshipped in each holy spot of Arabia and Palestine. He hath been on the hills where rested Noah's Ark; he hath walked by the Red Sea; in Sinai's Wilderness, he saw the mount where Moses received the law. He knows the passes of the North, and is on his way to distant shrines beyond the Forth. Little he eats, and drinks only of stream or lake. He is a fit guide for moor and fell."
"Gramercy!" exclaimed Lord Marmion. "Loth would I be to take Friar John, if this Palmer will lead us as far as Holy-Rood. I'll pay him not in beads and cockle shells, but in 'angels' fair and good. I love such holy ramblers. They know how to charm each weary hill with song or romance.
"'Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, They bring to cheer the way.'"
"Ah! sire," said young Selby, as he laid his finger on his lip in token of silence, "this man knows more than he has ever learned from holy lore. Last night, we listened at his cell, and strange things we heard. He muttered on till dawn. No conscience clear and void of evil intent remains so long awake to pray."
"Let it pass," cried Marmion. "This man and he only shall guide me on my way, though he and the arch fiend were sworn friends. So, please you, gentle youth, call this Palmer to the castle hall."
Little did Marmion dream that the Palmer was Ralph de Wilton, his deadliest foe, in disguise--Ralph de Wilton, his rival in love, whom Marmion had accused of treason, had caused to be sent into exile, and whom he supposed dead.
A moment later the Palmer appeared, clad in a black mantle and cowl, and wearing on his shoulders the keys of St. Peter cut in cloth of red. His cap, bordered with scallop shells, fitted close to his head, and over all was drawn the cowl. His sandals were travel-worn. In his hands he bore a staff and palm branch, emblems of the pilgrim from the holy land. No lord or knight was there in the hall who had a more stately step, none who looked more proud. He waited not for salutation, but strode across the hall of state, and fronted Marmion, as peer meets peer. Beneath the cowl was a face so wan, so worn, a cheek so sunken, and an eye so wild, that the mother would not have known her child, much less Marmion, his rival.
Danger, travel, want, and woe soon change the form. Deadly fear can outstrip time; toil quenches the fire of youth; and despair traces wrinkles deeper than old age.
"Happy whom none of these befall; But this poor Palmer knew them all."
Lord Marmion made known his request, and the Palmer took upon himself the task of guide, on condition that they set out without delay, saying:
"'But I have solemn vows to pay And may not linger by the way; Saint Mary grant that cave or spring May back to peace my bosom bring, Or bid it throb no more!'"
Then the page, on bended knee, presented to each guest in turn the massive silver bowl of wassail, "the midnight draught of sleep," rich with wine and spices. Lord Marmion drank, "Sound sleep to all"; the earl pledged his noble guest; all drained it merrily except the Palmer. He alone refused, although Selby urged him most courteously. The feast was over, the sound of minstrel hushed. Nought was heard in the castle but the slow footsteps of the guard.
At dawn the chapel doors unclosed, and after a hasty mass from Friar John, a rich repast was served to knight and squire.
"Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse: Then came the stirrup-cup in course; Between the Baron and his host No point of courtesy was lost; Till, filing from the gate, had passed That noble train, their Lord the last. Then loudly rang the trumpet call; Thundered the cannon from the wall, And shook the Scottish shore; Around the castle eddied slow, Volumes of smoke as white as snow, And hid its turrets hoar; Till they rolled forth upon the air, And met the river breezes there."
[Illustration: THE LIBRARY, ABBOTSFORD.]
CHAPTER II.
The breeze which swept away the rolling smoke from Norham, curled not the Tweed alone. Far upon